


Fortune Favours The Bold

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Cries During Sex (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Dom/sub, M/M, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25806229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Written for Flaming Like Anything vol 1Sometimes, your anxious little attempts at seducing the angel you love will just irritate him into taking matters into his own hands.And maybe that's for the best.Aziraphale reaches over, bridging the void. Crowley forgets how to breathe. Ever so gently, his glasses are lifted from his hair and folded away. His charcoal heart flutters at the touch.In a deliberate, decisive movement, Aziraphale snaps his fingers towards the shop floor and closes all the blinds. His eyes never leave Crowley’s face.“Take your shirt off.”Crowley short-circuits, a sound that’s more consonants than anything falls from his slack mouth. Yet, Aziraphale understands, because of course he does.“Your shirt, Crowley. Take it off.” There’s an edge within the marshmallow softness of his voice, something that hints at how displeased he might become at having to repeat himself again.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 382
Collections: Ineffable First Times, Top Aziraphale Recs





	Fortune Favours The Bold

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written for Flaming Like Anything, an erotic Good Omens zine.

_ Stupid. Pathetic. _ Crowley has pushed his luck again like the needy idiot he is and now Aziraphale is pushing away. It was only the briefest stroke of skin; a fingertip tracing across the inside of a wrist. If only Crowley hadn’t coupled it with a whimper and a suggestive lift of his eyebrow; a clashing mix of signals that did little to express the depth of his  _ want _ . Aziraphale had started, his entire body stiffening in a way that Crowley couldn’t, wouldn’t read as welcoming.

Snatching his hand away, Crowley clears his throat and slides his glasses back over his eyes. Hide away, put the barriers back, maintain distance. It’s safer this way.

“Oof, is that the time? I’d better make a move. Lots of bad deeds to be planning, you know how it is.” He’s rambling, he knows.

Worse, he’s sure Aziraphale knows it, too.

Needing to leave the bookshop as soon as possible, Crowley darts for the door with his coat slung over his arm before Aziraphale can speak.

“Crowley, stop.”

He does, his hand inches from the door, frozen in place. Aziraphale hasn’t spoken to him in that tone of voice for such a long time and it  _ does _ things to him, things he shouldn’t be thinking about, the very things he’s currently trying to escape.

“You are not running away from this again. Come back over here.” Aziraphale’s voice compels him.

Not for any celestial reason, he knows, but for the strong implication that disobeying would disappoint Aziraphale and the very idea hurts. That’s a thought to unpack later, not now, when he needs all of his wits present. His practised saunter won’t cooperate with his snake-hips, his feet are leaden, and he can’t meet Aziraphale’s gaze. Crowley drops into the desk chair and slouches like a schoolboy awaiting a reprimand, arms folded across his chest, eyes darting about everywhere except Aziraphale’s face.

There’s a sigh of resignation as Aziraphale settles on the arm of the sofa, his hands resting on his knees as he leans towards Crowley’s twitchy discomfort.

“You keep doing this, Crowley. You press forward the smallest amount and then before I can even think, you run away.” He sounds so kind, Crowley can hardly bear it, knowing how little he deserves it.

He shrugs awkwardly, his arms crossed too tightly to allow much movement.

“Whatever game you’re playing with me, Crowley, I don’t care for it.” He leans slightly back and Crowley’s mouth turns into the blessed Sahara.

“Game? I’m not- Look, yeah? I just.” Crowley trails off into a growl and scrubs at his face with both hands, lifting his sunglasses into his hair.

“What is it that you’re afraid of?”

Crowley tries to smile, tries to deflect the question with a devilish quip. _ He’s not afraid of anything, he’s the thing that people are scared of. _ The protest dies in his ash and dust mouth.

“Rejection.”

_ Fuck _ . He's said it, now it’s out there and Aziraphale is looking at him so intently, a tiny crease of a frown between his brows. _ You did that, you made him sad, you bastard _ ; Crowley’s inner monologue is incessant and cruel.

Aziraphale chews his bottom lip, slow and thoughtful. How can Crowley not stare? How is he supposed to ignore the tug of teeth on soft flesh and the brief glimpse of the same pink tongue he’s been dreaming of for millennia?

“Do you trust me?”

Whatever Crowley had been expecting, it was not  _ this _ . His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter. Noises can be misinterpreted, he knows, especially with his voice refusing to cooperate. He nods instead, forcing himself to look Aziraphale in the eyes. 

_ With my life _ , he wants to scream into the space between them,  _ you know that.  _ He doesn’t.  _ Coward _ .

Aziraphale reaches over, bridging the void. Crowley forgets how to breathe. Ever so gently, his glasses are lifted from his hair and folded away. His charcoal heart flutters at the touch.

In a deliberate, decisive movement, Aziraphale snaps his fingers towards the shop floor and closes all the blinds. His eyes never leave Crowley’s face.

“Take your shirt off.”

Crowley short-circuits, a sound that’s more consonants than anything falls from his slack mouth. Yet, Aziraphale understands, because of course he does.

“Your shirt, Crowley. Take it off.” There’s an edge within the marshmallow softness of his voice, something that hints at how displeased he might become at having to repeat himself again.

Reaching over his head, Crowley pulls his shirt, scarf, and vest all off in one frantic motion. He drops them on the floor and Aziraphale tuts. A moment of blind panic causes Crowley to banish the clothing back to his own flat, the cool air at his knees tells him that he overcompensated somewhat.

“Keen, are we?” There is laughter in Aziraphale’s voice, but it’s kind.

Crowley chances a glance down at himself and confirms what he already suspected; he’s in just his underwear. His jeans, boots, and socks have all joined the rest of his clothes in an untidy pile on his bed. There’s simply no cool, nonchalant way to respond to that.

Just as Crowley feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, Aziraphale pushes himself up from the arm of the sofa and reaches past Crowley’s face to take the back of the desk chair in both hands.

“Right, you silly serpent. I am going to show you just how unfounded your fears are.”

_ This is a terrible trick to play on me _ , Crowley thinks, trying to ignore the warmth rolling off Aziraphale and the scent filling his nose. The movement startles him as Aziraphale turns the chair to face the desk. He feels bereft, losing sight of Aziraphale. Solid hands land on his shoulders, bringing him back into the moment. Strong thumbs begin to knead into the muscle at the base of his neck, more skin to skin contact than they’ve ever had before. Crowley feels drunk with it.

“I’m going to show you that you need never fear rejection from me. All you have to do is sit still. Can you do that for me, Crowley?” Aziraphale’s breath tickles the wispy hairs above Crowley’s ear.

“Yes,” Crowley chokes out, guessing that Aziraphale wants to hear it aloud.

“Good boy,” Aziraphale croons.

Bless it all, if that doesn’t just make his cock twitch and his stomach drop in a way he’ll have to think about later. One of Aziraphale’s hands lifts off his shoulder and almost immediately there’s the sound of fabric hissing against fabric. Crowley tries to imagine what Aziraphale could be doing, his heart beating hard enough to break through his chest. Resisting the urge to turn and look burns his insides, but the reward is Aziraphale trailing the ends of his bow tie over Crowley’s collarbone. It’s looped around the hand cupping Crowley’s cheek, stroking him gently. Maintaining contact with Crowley at all times, Aziraphale draws the bow tie across Crowley’s eyes and ties it in place.

As his world goes dark, Crowley fights to calm the pounding pulse that threatens to deafen him.

He makes the conscious choice to put his faith in Aziraphale. The tightening of his fingers on the arms of the chair is from anticipation, not fear.

“Very nice,” Aziraphale’s smile is audible. “I’m going to take you apart so completely.”

His hands stroke down the length of Crowley’s neck, along the tops of his shoulders, and down his arms. It’s nothing and everything all at once; a gentle, innocent touch that sends electricity deep into his core.

A kiss he wasn’t prepared for lands on his neck, just below his ear, and Crowley whimpers, a thin and needy sound. His cock is as hard as it’s ever been, straining upwards inside his pants with the conviction of the righteous. A few gentle touches, a kiss, and a blindfold that smells of Aziraphale is more than enough to make him forget himself.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” Aziraphale asks as his fingers trace Crowley’s ribs with just enough pressure not to tickle.

Crowley can’t answer. All his clever witticisms and sharp retorts have deserted him in his hour of need. Further kisses wind down his neck and across his clavicle. Aziraphale’s breath is hot and damp on his skin, Crowley leans into it like a flower seeking the sun.

“I have wanted you for so long, you delicious creature,” Aziraphale continues.

The next kiss has the slightest touch of Aziraphale’s tongue within it. Crowley shivers and gulps in reaction, earning a soft chuckle from Aziraphale.

“So sensitive, aren’t you? I’m going to enjoy every second of this.” Aziraphale soothes him with his voice even as his words add fuel to the fire burning within Crowley.

For a while, Aziraphale only touches and kisses Crowley everywhere he can reach, laying down a base coat of affection over the cracks of careful indifference. Crowley whimpers and whines, words lost to him as he sinks deeper into a world made of sensation. The back of the chair melts away, bringing Crowley against Aziraphale. The familiar worn fabric of a century old waistcoat and its cool buttons press between Crowley’s shoulder blades. He leans into it to feel the softness of Aziraphale’s stomach. Aziraphale kisses the top of Crowley’s head, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck, and he rocks his hips. 

Behind the blindfold, Crowley’s eyes fly open. Aziraphale’s erection is pressed against his back, Crowley can feel its weight through Aziraphale’s trousers. Curving his spine in a silent offer, Crowley feels Aziraphale begin to grind against him. It’s a heated reminder of their purpose and Crowley can’t help the moan that rushes from his throat.

“You like that, do you? You like knowing the effect you have on me?” Aziraphale asks, breathless as he rocks against Crowley.

“Angel, you have no idea.” Crowley’s voice sounds alien even to himself.

One hand drops from the back of his neck to his inner thigh where it tweaks at the hem of his underwear, pulling at the tented arousal Crowley’s sporting.

“I have something of an idea.”

It’s the first bit of attention that Aziraphale has given Crowley’s throbbing cock and it jumps in anticipation. Heat floods Crowley’s face as he blushes furiously.

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale whispers, awed. “On your feet now, please.”

On legs that shake beneath him, Crowley stands and finds Aziraphale supporting him from behind. He’s a reassuring, warm presence, even with his erection nestled against Crowley’s buttocks.

“Put your hands out in front of you and lean down until you touch the desk. That’s it.” Aziraphale guides him down until he’s resting his elbows on the desk. “Try to keep your back straight and don’t lock your knees, there’s a good chap.”

He’s exposed, vulnerable, blind. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once, Crowley focuses on the wellspring of trust and love that he has for Aziraphale and breathes his way through the tremors of fear that paint the edges of his thoughts.

“May I?” Aziraphale has his fingers under the waistband of Crowley’s underwear, tugging downwards.

“Satan, yes. Please, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale pulls the waistband out and down over Crowley’s cock with care, lifts each of Crowley’s feet in turn to disentangle them. Now naked, Crowley realises the implications of what they are doing. His timid, cautious flirtations with touch were unnecessary; Aziraphale  _ wants _ him. It hits him like a truck, that this is going to happen, that he hasn’t tempted Aziraphale into this. If anything, he’s irritated Aziraphale into taking this action. A bloom of unadulterated fondness flourishes in Crowley’s chest.

There’s a kiss on his hip, then the small of his back, and Aziraphale’s hands grab the meat of Crowley’s buttocks. There’s so much lust in the air that Crowley imagines he could swim in it and yet Aziraphale has done little more than stroke and caress him.

“You have no idea how much I want to fuck you, Crowley.”

Crowley’s head sags forward, unable to bear the weight of this new knowledge. It’s too much, going from wanting to having this quickly. 

Aziraphale trails the fingertips of one hand between Crowley’s cheeks, just brushing the sensitive skin of his hole. Crowley’s cock is straining and spilling drops of precome onto the floor. He wants this, he needs it. More than anything, he needs Aziraphale to make it happen. 

One miraculously slick finger circles his rim and it’s oh so hard to stay still; he wants to push back, to insist that finger enter him. Crowley holds his breath, holds still. Aziraphale is standing so close to him that Crowley can feel the hardness of him against his hip. 

Gently, so gently, Aziraphale works his finger into Crowley’s hole. He whimpers as Aziraphale works, whispering encouragement and praise into ears unaccustomed to such language.  The sensation goes from almost too much to not enough and back, again and again as Aziraphale stretches him open and soon Crowley is being fucked on fingers that were made to wield a flaming sword. 

It’s so much, near overwhelming. His cock bounces in the air with each twisting thrust of Aziraphale’s fingers and he knows that he’s babbling insensibly. 

Aziraphale runs his free hand up Crowley’s back to grab a fistful of his hair, holding him on his fingers until he’s satisfied that Crowley is ready for him. Crowley sobs as Aziraphale withdraws and chokes it back when those same fingers close around his neglected cock. Aziraphale strokes him leisurely, up and down the full length of his dripping erection. That’s Aziraphale’s hand wrapped around him, that has been  _ inside  _ him. 

Crowley desperately wants to come, he can barely stand with the wanting. Surely Aziraphale knows this. Why else would he be keeping such an infuriatingly sedate pace? Frustrated tears form in Crowley’s eyes and he tries to blink them back before they stain Aziraphale’s bow tie.

The hand in his hair releases him and Crowley can hear the muted pop of buttons through fabric. Aziraphale is going to fuck him. Something feels wrong.

“Please! Aziraphale. Wait!” Crowley pleads.

Instantly, Aziraphale is by his side, gently stroking his back and sounding concerned.

“What is it, my darling?”

Crowley huffs and presses his forehead against his hands, struggling to ask for what he needs.

“I- I want to see you,” he mumbles into the desk.

Aziraphale slips the blindfold up and off Crowley’s head at once. His flushed face is very close to Crowley’s.

“Hello there,” he says softly.

Crowley smiles and steals a kiss from lips he has dreamt of for aeons.

“Are you alright? Do you need to stop?” Aziraphale’s voice makes it clear that Crowley can have anything he wants.

“No, ‘m fine. Just needed”—he gestures vaguely to Aziraphale’s face—“this.”

He’s rewarded with the warmest smile and the sweetest kiss. Crowley gives a little wriggle of impatience, his priorities having been reshuffled once more. 

Aziraphale laughs and moves back into position, inadvertently treating Crowley to the most obscene, erotic sight he’d never imagined. With his antique trousers shoved half down his thighs, Aziraphale’s thick cock juts out, fully exposed. The head is dark, shining with precome, Crowley licks his lips, imagining the weight of it on his tongue. _ Maybe next time _ , he thinks, hoping this is only the first of many.

“You look incredible, Crowley, just waiting for me. Such a good boy, behaving so well for me,” Aziraphale teases, touching the tip of his cock against Crowley’s hole as he speaks.

“Just for you, angel,” Crowley chokes out, holding as still as he can and looking over his shoulder to where Aziraphale stands.

He sees Aziraphale shuffle his feet, feels the press of his cock. He sees angelic eyes flutter closed as he sinks past that first bite of resistance.

It’s obvious this means as much to him as it does to Crowley. He slides deeper, slowly enough to let Crowley adjust, but he’s thicker than the fingers he’d opened Crowley on. The stretch is just short of painful; some discomfort but Crowley can take it, he  _ wants _ to take it. 

Dimly, he’s aware that he’s panting and his neck is beginning to ache, but he wants so badly to see Aziraphale’s face when he bottoms out. The drag of Aziraphale’s glans against Crowley’s prostate nearly makes him miss it, his eyes squeezing shut against the overwhelming starburst of pleasure. He only manages to force them open just in time to feel Aziraphale sink home. The expression Aziraphale blesses him with is more blissful than his best cream-cake face, it hits Crowley with an intoxicating pulse of love.

Aziraphale grinds against him, letting him relax into the fullness, before beginning to move in earnest, holding his hips in firm hands. Crowley buries his face in his arms, moaning as Aziraphale draws out and then fills him again, picking up speed until they are both getting what they need from this. 

He’s seeing stars with each stroke, the pressure building in his belly isn’t going to be ignored much longer. Behind him, Aziraphale groans something wordless and primal. Knowing Aziraphale is going to come buried inside him is overwhelming, making Crowley whimper and tremble with a need he can’t vocalise. Either Aziraphale understands or his timing is impeccable, because he chooses that moment to reach down to Crowley’s cock and close it in his fist.

“Do you want to come for me, Crowley? I’m going to fill you up and I need you to come for me.”

Without lifting his head, Crowley nods and whines, bucking his hips against the desk and fucking into Aziraphale’s fist.

“Oh, good boy, my love, my everything.” Aziraphale’s litany of endearments cuts short with a violent grunt and a shuddering spasm. Feeling his lover’s release and the frantic movements after send Crowley crashing over his own edge, an explosion of white and softness. Drifting until he’s back leaning against a desk while Aziraphale presses shaky kisses along his spine, murmuring sweet nonsense.

Aziraphale slips from inside him with a sigh, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders and lifting him in strong arms. 

He’s safe and soft and warm and loved, held by a literal angel on an antique couch in the backroom of a bookshop in Soho. Just like he’s meant to be.

  
  



End file.
